Emerald Green Lily
by Mlee.Write
Summary: Episode Tag for 6 x 17 Silver Wings of Time. Jane reflects.


**Emerald Green Lily**

"I'm not starting. You look beautiful." The words were out of his mouth before he had the time to regret them.

He watched her face close down instantly. An second ago she'd been prepared for a verbal duel, and now that he'd truly complimented her, she'd shut down, put up walls.

"I hope he's taking you someplace nice," Jane said before things could get awkward. More awkward.

On second thought he didn't regret telling her. He should have told her she looked beautiful more often. She deserved to hear it.

"Cloth napkins and everything," she said. She looked up at the ceiling and not at him.

"Fancy. I hope you have a great time." He meant it actually. He did want her to have a great time. He wanted her to be happy because she deserved it.

He tried not to stare when she walked away, all shapely curves encased in black. Her heels… Apparently she'd grown more comfortable in them after their sting operation.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think of her perfume that was still floating around him.

Jane groaned, sitting up. The office was emptying out, most of the staff looking forward to some downtime. He wandered to the kitchen to brew himself a cup of tea. It was late and he would be up anyway, so he didn't worry about the caffeine.

He took a box of green tea—Emerald Green Lily—from the cabinet and poured hot water from the carafe into a mug. He let the tea steep. You had to be careful with green tea. You didn't want the water too hot, near boiling only. If you over-steeped the tea would become bitter, grassy.

When the water was a pale yellow he tossed the teabag and took a sip. It was a mild flavor, subtle, gentle on his tongue.

He wondered if there were emerald green lilies. Probably not. Emeralds were worth more than diamonds, he reflected, far more rare and valuable. Teresa should have an emerald engagement ring, he though. A solitaire, emerald cut of course, on a gold band.

He was standing there, sipping his tea, thinking about gemstones and lilies when Wylie walked in, looking a little worse for wear.

"You headed home?" Jane asked.

"No," Wylie said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out an energy drink. It was in an obnoxiously bright can that was too tall. "I'm working on this new program to enhance our facial recognition software. I really think I'm onto something. I don't want to quit now."

He looked eager, his eyes overly-bright with fatigue. Jane had seen the look on his own face before. "Well, don't stay too long. You don't want to become the guy who lives at work."

He said it in a manner that implied he was imparting wisdom onto his young protégé. He liked Wylie. He was guileless and eager, a younger, less confident Rigsby.

The agent turned to leave, then thought better about it and turned around. He seemed to be searching for words and Jane wondered what he was going to say. He couldn't always guess with Wylie.

"You know about the gorilla in the basketball game?" Wyile asked.

Like that. Didn't see that coming.

"Um, no," Jane replied wryly. He sipped his tea again.

"It's a selective attention test," Wylie explained. "You watch this video of people playing basketball and they tell you to count how many times the ball is passed. In the middle of a video a gorilla walks across the frame."

"But people are so focused on counting they don't see the gorilla," Jane finished. "The concept is the foundation of magic. Watch your card so you don't feel the magician slip another one into your pocket."

Wylie paused, then took a breath. "Well, I think that sometimes you can be the smartest person in the room, and if you're looking too hard at something else, you'll miss something amazing in front of you, you know?" He started talking faster, clearly uncomfortable. "It doesn't mean that you're not smart, or observant or intuitive, it's just that we all miss the big things sometimes. And it's okay. If we didn't life wouldn't be very exciting, you know?"

Jane was quiet.

"And I think when you finally see it, you should do something about it, the amazing things." Wylie turned a little red. "That's all. Goodnight, Jane."

He turned and scurried from the kitchen.

Jane sighed. He'd just been lectured on relationships by a socially inept computer nerd using a gorilla analogy. Excellent.

He dumped the rest of the tea and left the kitchen just as Cho came in, tossing an empty water bottle in the recycle bin.

"Did you hear that?" Jane asked.

"Yeah, Wylie called you an idiot," Cho said. "For the record, you are an idiot."

"Thanks," Jane said, brushing past him. "Have a good night."

"You could be having a really good night right now," Cho said after him. "Idiot."

It was the tone reserved for Rigbsy when he ate something off the floor. Jane realized how far he'd fallen.

Considering his sanctum sanctorum was now full of critics, Jane picked up his book and headed for the airstream in the parking lot. It was dark out now, most of the cars gone for the day. He went inside and shut the door, falling onto the fold out bed.

He wondered what Teresa was doing and immediately regretted it.

He could see Teresa in his mind. He could see her at the restaurant, enjoying the food, the wine. He could see her taking delicate bites of dessert, letting the chocolate melt on her tongue. He could see her stumbling outside after, maybe just a little drunk. He could see the goodnight kiss and then the slightly embarrassed invitation inside. He could see the zipper on her little black dress lowering, revealing secret inches of alabaster white skin.

What he couldn't see was Marcus Pike. No, in his visions he was the man on the other side of the table. His hands were brushing Teresa's hair aside as he kissed her neck. He was the one she leaned into, smelling of wine and chocolate and turning her face up to be kissed.

He opened his eyes, abjectly miserable. He hadn't been miserable since he killed Red John. Interesting. Misery was an old friend, and it settled into his belly, nestled there for the long term.

It wasn't that he hadn't thought of Lisbon that way before. It just hadn't been that…specific. That scripted out.

Sometimes in the attic or the CBI couch he'd wonder what she tasted like, what she would do if he kissed her. Sometimes at a crime scene she'd lean forward and he'd sneak a peek at her cleavage. He'd watch her ass her sway as she walked away. He appreciated her. He flirted with her. He liked that there was a tiny little spark between them without it being strange or uncomfortable.

This was different. This was… It wasn't wondering. It was yearning. He wanted to be Pike so badly in that moment that it _hurt._

It wasn't even that she was sleeping with him. He'd realized that this morning when he'd seen the cab. Of course, he'd suspected, but the confirmation made him nauseated. He wasn't sexist—Lisbon had the right to a sex life, and he had no illusions that there had been lovers before. He knew of some of them. He'd never been jealous of them before, just curious.

But yesterday morning he realized that Pike had spent time in Teresa's arms. He'd held her and kissed her. He knew what it was like to have Teresa touch him intimately, pleasuring him. He knew what she tasted like. That seemed like such a precious, sacred gift that it galled Jane that another man had it.

How had this happened so quickly?

When he came back to the States he told himself that demanding Lisbon's presence was about rekindling their friendship, their partnership. He also told himself that it was about re-instating a career he'd unfairly stripped her of.

Maybe it was that he didn't have Red John on his mind anymore. There wasn't anything to take the focus off Teresa. And now he was drowning in his yearning for cinnamon scented hair and her slender arms hugging him and her laughter.

_She was so beautiful. _ And she was right there, every day. Within arm's reach.

And he couldn't touch her. Not without being an ass about it.

Pike was a good man, a man he'd want for Teresa if he didn't want Teresa for himself. Pike would treat her like a queen and make her happy. And if he made a move on her now, Teresa would definitely be conflicted and it would screw up her chances with Pike. He'd be sabotaging her chance at happiness.

The best he could do was wait it out, hope things fell apart, and then move in. Hope she loved him.

Maybe she didn't, not that way. Maybe that's why her face looked so guarded when he told her that she looked beautiful. She found him attractive—the signs were there—but that didn't mean she _wanted_ him. He was a pain in the ass. A vagabond. He was a widower in ragged brown shoes without a place to call home. He wasn't exactly a tempting offer.

Maybe she just didn't like being dressed up and so obviously dating a coworker. Lisbon, the boss, would not have projected that image at the office for fear of damaging her reputation as a cop and a leader. The fact that she was doing it now meant she either didn't care or she liked Pike enough to risk it.

Neither answer made him happy. He turned on the radio for awhile, just to have another voice to listen to. Eventually he closed his eyes and began to drift off, troubled, never really falling asleep.

He could sense it was late when he heard his door open. He never bothered to lock the airstream. It was on FBI property after all.

He smelled her before he saw her, cinnamon and the bite of alcohol.

He pushed himself up on his elbows. "Lisbon, you okay?"

She wavered in his doorway, still in her dress and heels. Her face looked torn and miserable and her eyes were red.

"What happened?" he asked, his pulse kicking up a notch.

He wanted to ask if Pike had hurt her, but he didn't want the answer because it would potentially make him do something stupid. Like commit murder. Again.

"I think I'm drunk," she whispered.

"Okay," he said.

She was obviously drunk given her voice and the smell of wine and the way she leaned against the door for support. The Airstream was lit only by the pale glow coming through the windows, the sodium lights in the parking lot. Her hair fell down over her face, casting her features in shadow.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, starting to get up.

She held out her hand, stopping him. "I just don't want to talk about it okay?"

"Okay," he said again.

She stumbled as she pulled off her shoes, letting the heels fall to the floor. She dropped her clutch on the table and then crawled across the bed to him. He could taste his heart in his mouth. He laid back down and she rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. Her perfume was gone. Now he could just smell her shampoo and the wine she'd been drinking.

"I don't want to talk about it," she reiterated, tucking one hand between his shoulder and her cheek, curling into him.

Instinctively he pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She felt very small and warm. He used his other hand to tug a blanket over her.

She fell asleep quickly, her lips parting, her breathing heavy. She must have drunk quite a bit, he reflected. Her cheeks were flushed. He could see her freckles vividly.

Whatever Pike did it wasn't especially violent or cruel or she would have kneecapped him. No, something else was troubling her. If the date had gone that poorly she would have left before she had time to get sloshed.

He brushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

He wondered if she drove back to the office—hoped not. She'd need a ride home to change for work. Maybe her car was still in the lot. Maybe Pike had dropped her off.

He wondered if she'd ever tell him what happened. If he was a nice man he'd leave before she ever woke and save her the embarrassment of waking up next to him. He'd probably even leave her coffee and aspirin.

Until then he was going to sleep, his cheek against her forehead, her breath on his neck.


End file.
